


Five Times Poe Dameron Didn't Ask, and One Time He Did

by Tinq



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Eventual Romance, Explicit Language, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt!Poe, I'll add tags as it continues, Injury, Medical Procedures, Slow Build, ugh tags are hard, why is poe dameron so damn charming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 11:49:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13270848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinq/pseuds/Tinq
Summary: Five different times Commander Poe Dameron didn't ask - and the one time he did.You're the captain of an esteemed medical team on the Resistance; you were no stranger to combat injuries, but after your first encounter with the Commander of Black Squadron, everything changes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm so excited to be posting this oh my lord you have no idea.
> 
> This is my first ever Star Wars fanfiction - and to be honest, I am totally out of my depth? Like I want to give a general warning - I don't know that much about Star Wars! It's so weird to say that, as I'm posting a Star Wars fanfiction. But I'm new to the fandom and I'm not caught up on everything, but I'm absorbing as much as I can.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Also I hope you are as in love with Poe Dameron (and Oscar Isaac, hubba hubba!) as I am because it's been driving me crazy. Writing about his character seems the only good way to satiate my hunger ;)
> 
> (Psst also let me know if u think I should continue this! It would be much appreciated!!)

            When you were part of the Resistance – whether residing on one of its many military fleets, or existing, as you did, on the planet D’Quar – a sunrise and sunset didn’t signify what it used to. You remember rising early as a child, peeking out the window beside your bed. Though the room was cramped and dull, your eyes would brighten as the sun began to climb over the rocky expanse of planet around you.

            It was hard for you to remember times that now; not only because they were distant mentally, but physically as well. Being a member of the Resistance did not have a daily expiration date. The small tufts of slumber you could snatch only seemed to spur your restlessness. What was happening while you tossed and turned on your cot? Soon enough, though, exhaustion tended to conquer your anxieties and sleep would envelope you.

            Never enough – but never something you searched for either.

            Now, inside the main medical hall on the east wing of the sprawling D’Quar base, you could spy the sun spilling up over the desolate orange landscape, a tongue of fire kissing the east face of any life forms.

            There wasn’t a time or place to appreciate things like that anymore, but being a part of the Resistance certainly allowed you to be grateful for it more than the First Order would.

            You sidestepped a cot as it sped down the aisle, eyes flicking from the file in your hands to the space in front of you.

            “Captain, we’re expecting a full house in approximately 3 minutes.” You glance up from the files you were attempting to skim as you hurried down the hall, searching for spare cots. This information was not news to you; in fact, it was the word Captain that had pulled you away from your thoughts. But you shook it of quickly; it was simply a formality, as the Head Medic of Base Bay 1, and no official title had been needed until the Resistance created them. “Black Squadron and Red Squadron are returning from-“

            You raise a hand dismissively. “I’m aware, Sergeant Jax. I’m retrieving three new cots now. Anything else to report?”

            He shook his head, deep brown eyes flicking from your face to the clipboard in your hand. “Not quite – well, nothing official.”

            You signal quickly for him to walk beside you. There’s no time to waste, and 3 minutes until arrival – already less than that – did not grant you much leeway.

            “What’s the problem, Jax?” He walks hurriedly beside you, his frantic pace not helping the minute wrinkle of worry upon his forehead.

            But he shakes his head, relieving your fears. “It’s not really a problem, Captain.” He pauses as you reach the spare room, yanking the door open less than a second after it processes your identity. You dip inside quickly, yanking out the first cot. Jax pushes it out of the way dutifully, lining up the other two as you drag them out, wheels squeaking from disuse. Base Bay 1, though the largest of the six medical halls on the Resistance Base, rarely saw such a need for so many cots. Lately, though, the First Order had been pressing upon the Resistance. Though as Captain of a Med Bay, you were spared the details, and a large part of you was thankful.

            You grabbed onto the base of two of the cots, dragging them behind you as you sped back down the hallway. Jax snatched the last one obediently, trying to walk beside you despite the cots spurring out in your wake.

            “Again, there’s no problem, Captain,” He nearly ran into one of your cots as you stopped sharply, swinging them around so that the bases were up against the grey base walls. You pretended not to notice his eyebrows raise in surprise at the strength you possessed – working for the Resistance had quite a few benefits, including physical training. You were in the best shape of your life. “But have you worked with Black Squadron before?”

            You regarded him cautiously, only partially paying attention to the mattress you were lifting onto the cot. Not that such a familiar task would require full attention anyway. Never a day had gone by when you hadn’t completed this action less than a dozen times.

            You searched your memory only briefly, the only connection you could find to the Black Squadron being small bits of conversation with General Organa.

            “I do not believe so, Jax. Is this important?” You couldn’t help the annoyance that slipped into your words; Jax had retained much of his naivety during his medical training, and though he was disciplined, it took him more time than usual to catch onto small details.

            He seemed to take the hint, though, now hurrying his words. You began to hear noise stirring from out in the hall; it appeared their company would soon be arriving.

            “Um – sorry, Captain. I just wanted to warn you. They can…” He paused again, seeming to search desperately for the words. You kept yourself focused on him, though, the word warning catching your attention quickly. He shrugged, shaking his head in defeat. “I have no better way to say this, but, I’ve been told they can be a bit of a pain in the-“

            “You asshole!” A shout echoed down from the Base Bay doors, which were now swinging open. The voice belonged to a gruff, apparently angered woman, who was being pushed down into a cot by another medic. The bay area, which seemed fairly large when empty, seemed far smaller now with the growing amount of guests.

            You dismissed Jax without a word, your pace hurried as you greeted the strangers. Following the first – loudly – occupied cot were two more; one, which contained a tall, attractive woman with wily blonde hair, unconscious and bleeding from her cheek.

            The last cot, being wheeled in by a familiar face, contained a man who was sitting upright, and looked frustrated, albeit slightly defeated.

            “I’m telling you, man, this information is time sensitive.” He braced himself using the sides of the cot, attempting to further lift himself. Immediately pain flashed in his gaze, gritting his teeth together.

            The man pushing the cot let out a deep chuckle. “Sorry, Commander, but it’s not up to me.”

            The apparent Commander twisted his body – as much as he could, without causing himself further injury – impatience boiling in his gaze. “Then who’s it up to?”

            You wheel about on your feet, your usually stern tone now lit with hunger – and, to your surprise, humor. Nothing spurred you on like seeing fellow Resistance fighters injured. It was times like these when you were so completely sure that being a Combat Medic was your true calling – nothing else pulled you like this, nothing else set such fire to the ambition inside you.

            “That would be me.” I surveyed him quickly – there was nothing physically wrong, really, but the visible pain he was suffering was enough for me. “I’ll take it from here, Nelas, thank you.”

            The other medic bowed his tremendous head, and you focused more closely on your patient, as the Base Bay sprung to life around you. The man – Commander – was still sitting upright, but the exhaustion in his eyes was apparent. He studied you intently, watching you observe him.

            Though your mind was fully occupied, his, apparently, was not.

            “So who talks first? You talk first? I talk first?” There was no denying his casual charm – you flashed a glare at him, and set to work.

            “You, apparently.” The basics were – well, the basics to you. The familiarity was akin to any basic medical process; no matter what the injuries were, concussion, a broken bone, a fever, laceration, the patient’s vitals still had to be retrieved.

            A monitor blinked to life on the short stand beside you, and you let it chatter away, facing your patient evenly.

            “What’s your name, Commander?”

            He cast a playful grin, not even flinching when you grabbed his arm, inserting an IV into it without warning. “You don’t know who I am?”

            You shake your head at his simple arrogance – not only because his words irk you, but because you still couldn’t deny – there was something aggravatingly charismatic about him. Even with a few scars and bruises around his eyes, and a small trickle of blood on his chin, he remained resolutely attractive.

            Not that it mattered.

            “Am I supposed to?” You offered. Surprisingly, his bleeding sarcasm didn’t bother you as much as the arrogance did – and even that was starting to fade. Damn all the charming men in the galaxy, you thought. “Your vitals are a little off-kilter. Mind telling me what happened, Commander…?”

            His grin somehow only grew – what about this situation could be humorous, you failed to understand. “My name’s Poe Dameron, and I didn’t ask for your help.”

            You frowned slightly – not at his retort, but at the results that continued to fill the monitor screen. Without breaking your gaze from the screen, you put your fingertips on his shoulder and pushed him lightly down into the cot.

            And he shot himself right back up.

            “Commander Dameron, what’s-“

            “It’s Poe.” He interrupted plainly. “And if you didn’t hear me talking to your friend on the way in, please hear me now – I have time-sensitive information that needs to reach General Organa.” He blinked at you evenly, only playful ghosts of his previous grin remaining on his face. There was something unidentifiably admirable about this change in attitude, but it was nothing you could put your finger on, and certainly nothing worth exploring.

            “Unfortunately,” You retort, not skipping a beat. “It looks like you took a fairly heavy blow to your rib cage, Commander. So either you tell me what happened-“

            “Or what?” He teased, interrupting you once again. Reverence lit your eyes, and you put up a warning hand.

            “Don’t interrupt me again.”

            In any other circumstance – talking to janitorial staff, a fellow medical captain, or even an acquaintance – the atmosphere would change immediately. But to your surprise, all he did was laugh – not rudely, just… a little too entertained for your taste.

            “Okay – I won’t.” He gave you another inquisitive glance, then sighed, laying back in the cot. “A big hunk of scrap metal landed on me. There were only a few visible scratches but, damn, can I feel this one.” He fumbles with his flight suit, only to be stopped by another combat medic who appears by his side. While the fellow worker cuts away the flight suit, he returns his gaze to you. “Can you promise to have me out of her within in hour?”

            If it were anyone else – absolutely anyone else in the entire galaxy, even the General herself – you would have responded responsibly. There were no such thing as promises when you were in the middle of a war, even if you were only the Captain of a medical team. And especially when you still hadn’t identified the true injury.

            And your own answer pissed you off, but there was something about the Commander that had you speaking before you could overthink it anymore.

            “It’s a promise.”

            The other medic spared a surprised glance at you, but he hid it quickly, setting to work on Commander Dameron.

            He laid his head down on the cot, watching you as you worked. It was only slightly unnerving – whether or not he was truly an asshole trying to bother you, or he was generally interested, didn’t matter. The fluid in the IV would put him under soon enough, and your mind broke away from worrying about his character, in exchange for his injury.

            The final thought you spared to him before turning your attention to the next patient – it was considerably unfair for him to be so attractive.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On an unexpected day off, you receive an unexpected - but familiar - visitor in the medical bay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, so, so, so, SO in love with Poe Dameron!
> 
> Also, I did technically make a small mistake plot-wise in this chapter, so I'll mention it in the ending notes. Hopefully nobody minds - I did try to repair in the last few lines of dialogue, but I'm sure anyone reading this will be forgiving.

As Captain of entire medical base – once more, the word Captain irked you, an overwhelming desire to not disrespect actually Captains consistently flooding your mind – days off were few and far between. However, all Squadrons were out on mandatory flight training and simulations. It wasn’t common, and you’d been spared the details, but the basic understanding was, until another mission presented itself, having a brief 12 hour break really couldn’t hurt anyone.

            You sat at a small table, alone, in the mess hall. It wasn’t crowded necessarily, but certainly busier than it would normally be in the late afternoon. Most other medical teams had a similar break today; only the lower level medics remaining in each Base Bay to maintain the existing patients.

            You played absentmindedly with your food. There was no real hunger digging into you, but you knew it was best to eat early; the pilots would likely be ravaging the mess hall when they returned in such a large number.

            Instead, your thoughts were mainly occupied by worry. Base Bay 1’s operation team had made a few critical mistakes in the previous weeks. Nothing drastic, thank the Maker, but enough to grant attention from General Organa. The mediation had been nothing short of embarrassing – you held the utmost respect for the General, and unfortunately, most of the fault led to you, as the Captain.

            “I don’t doubt your experience, or your determination to lead your team with success.” The General always spoke with a diplomacy that awed you. Her tone was always so fair, no matter what exactly she was saying; it was a quality you envied and sought after in leading your own team. “I respect the sacrifices you’ve made in order to be where you are, Captain,” She paused again, and you fought down a mild flinch from the word; especially when the General herself used it, it felt entirely out of place. “But we cannot have these mistakes. I understand that in the grand scheme of things, they were, individually, minute. But together? It’s beginning to look like a problem.”

            Shame had lit your cheeks, and you fought down a more expressive answer, keeping your tone apologetic and true. “I understand, General. And I will do everything in my power to make sure these mistakes don’t happen again.”

            The General regarded your aridly. “I know you will. You’re dismissed, Captain.”

            Embarrassment enveloped you as you left the main headquarters. The days that followed turned agitating; your words were sharp and your medical team seemed to dance around you. Now, you sat alone in the mess hall, filled with frustration, your meeting with the General hardly even the catalyst for your self doubt.

            _You shouldn’t be called a Captain,_ You thought bitterly to yourself. You tossed down your fork in defeat. _And you shouldn’t be a leader._

            Though the thought rung true in your mind, you knew deeply you wouldn’t perform as a follower. Nonetheless, you didn’t let the argument play out; you’d already chosen the winning side, after all.

            You pulled out a journal from the satchel that sat on the seat beside you. Maybe writing out a game plan would help you more. It was just as you were beginning to write when hurried footsteps met your silent table; you looked up to see Jax, a panic lit in his gaze.

            “Captain, one of the X-Wings had a bit of an – um, accident, during the flight tests-“

            You stand up quickly, gathering your things. You controlled the alarm on your mind with ease. Jax was known to exaggerate and, besides that, you had no complaints about getting to work, a restless boredom beginning to settle into your hands.

            “Do we have any details?”

            Jax nodded, hurrying after you as you disappeared from the mess hall. As usual, he struggled to match your pace.

            “It’s hard to piece together, but a member of Black Squadron dipped too low to the surface,” He broke off as you slipped down another hallway. “Captain, where are you going?”

            You didn’t stop to answering. “This is a shortcut, Jax, and it’s time you learned them.”

            Once again, the inferior officer hurried behind you; this was what you loved, not necessarily the injury, but most certainly the recovery.

            “I was down at the landing deck a few minutes ago; the pilot is already in the Base Bay, but-“

            You stopped abruptly, Jax nearly running straight into you. You swiveled around, barely keeping the annoyance from bleeding into your words. “What? If he’s already in the Base Bay – Jax, why are you wasting my time?”

            The words were falsified, of course – any excuse to get out of the mess hall and work was a good one, but there was no reason to continue back to the Base Bay if your medical team had already begun work. Already your turbulent behavior had affected the behavior of your team, and there was no need to breath down their backs as they worked.

            Jax stumbled apologetically over his words. “Captain, he requested you specifically.”

            Your mouth had already been opened to reply, but you shut it quickly. “Oh.” You swallowed, pushing down your immediate curiosity, more concerned with the present regret. “Jax – I’m sorry.” You paused again, allowing a lapse in guard, if only for the young officer, whom you trusted. “Not just for this – the past few days I know have likely been stressful for you. I don’t mean to take out my frustrations on my team – I have more respect for you all than you know.”

            Jax – for once – had no hesitation in replying, his head shaking quickly. “Captain, really – we understand. We want to give you space – the respect is beyond mutual. You’d be forgiven whether or not you asked for it.”

            You smiled tightly at his words. He was starting to sound like you – respectful, with just a hint of that diplomatic nature that you mimicked from General Organa. You turned back around, speeding off to the Base Bay.

            After darting around two more corners, nearly running into a few mechanics on a repair shift, you arrived at the entrance. The doors were still swinging from a recent entry, and you glanced over at Jax as you neared the door.

            “Who is this patient – did they mention anything other than requesting me?”

            You pushed through the doors, eyes flitting around. To your surprise, Base Bay 1 was fairly empty; you hadn’t realized how many of your in-patients had been released over the last few days, distracted by your own inner quarrels.

            You walked forward expectantly, your team coming to greet you. Nelas stepped forward nervously. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, Captain, I know-“

            You shook your head again, offering a small smile to your team as they stood before you. “There’s no need to be sorry.” You swallowed tightly; there was no time for a long discussion, but they already seemed to understand your expression, relaxing visibly. “Now, would anyone like to tell me who my patient is?”

            Nelas opened his mouth to answer, but another voice came from the cot behind them, the sheets that acted as temporary walls blocking you from view.

            “It’s your favorite pilot in the entire Galaxy, Captain!”

            You couldn’t resist letting your smile grow – you ignored the surprised faces of your medical team as you stepped through them, turning to face the man laying in the cot. Your smile broke away when you saw his face.

            “I know, I’m looking just a fraction less handsome than my usual.” He paused, studying your jarred face. “I hope you don’t mind me requesting you specifically – I thought it would be nice to have someone to talk to.”

            _Say something, idiot,_ You thought angrily to yourself, moving closer to inspect him. Nearly all of Commander Dameron’s face was coated with blood, and yet, you thought, damning him silently, he was still as handsome as ever.

            “Mind telling me what happened?” You quickly sat down, pulling all of your needed supplies close to you; the actions were beyond familiar, especially now that you had a repeat patient. It had barely been a week since the Commander had been lying in the same Base Bay – what was wrong with this guy?

            He nodded, grimacing. “I was bit too enthusiastic during our simulation, really.”

            You raised a questioning eyebrow, watching the monitor in front of you as it continued to display his vitals. Another voice sounded out from the cot on the other side, blocked by a thin white sheet.

            “Uh, he got a bit more than enthusiastic, I would say.”

            The Commander let out a chuckle, then groaned tiredly. “Did anyone ask you, L’ulo?”

            The sheets between the two cots were swiped away by the voice on the other side – another apparent member of Black Squadron, you could observe, based upon the flight suit he was wearing. He sported a deep gash on his exposed shoulder, but otherwise, not too worse for wear.

            “Well clearly you weren’t going to tell the truth,” L’ulo fashioned his gaze onto yours. “The mighty Poe here got a bit more than enthusiastic. A pilot from Red Squadron had to fake taking a hit and the Black Squadron – _as a whole unit_ – was supposed to exhibit the recovery.” He grinned widely as Poe shut his eyes in clear embarrassment. You couldn’t lie – watching the Commander under pressure was immensely entertaining, and you didn’t even bother trying to shake away you grin. “Poe here went for it on his own – oh, Captain, you should have heard him whooping as he went down – he really thought he’d had it.”

            The Commander sighed, exasperated. He seemed completely unfazed by the fact that his face was still covered in blood. You flicked your gaze away from the two pilots for a moment; to your surprise, his vitals were still in the safe zones for the most part, his injuries this week mostly outward. You pushed the desk aside, gathering your cleaning supplies, sliding your chair towards his head.

            He was still facing L’ulo in apparent indignation. “I almost did have it – and it was only a simulation. You know-“

            L’ulo interrupted him with an immense guffaw that made you blink in surprise. “Oh, shut up, Dameron, if you use that line again I swear, I’ll graffiti BB-8. I’m not kidding. You absolutely would have done the same thing in reality.” He shakes his head, feigning disappointment. “And they call you the best Pilot in the resistance.”

            You laugh at his statements, ignoring Poe’s gaze as it wanders to you in surprise. You continue to ignore him watch you gather a myriad of cotton balls and other cleaning supplies. Most of you knew that he was completely used to be in the med bay – but most of you knew that you didn’t have the patience to ask if he was ready. You began cleaning away at his face, and he closed his eyes and grinned. “Ah, yes, the royal treatment.”

            You shook your head, applying a slight overabundance of disinfectant onto his face – his eyes flashed open and he bit his lip, stifling a whine. “You know that stuff stings me, right?”

            You flash him a grin that catches him off guard once more. “Of course I know, Commander.”

            He shuts his eyes again, settling back into his cot. Beside them, L’ulo chuckles to himself, lying back down.

            Poe opens just one eye, peering up at your face; you don’t let it break your concentration, swiping away at the blood and making sure to find each and every gash in his face. “I already told you, my name is Poe – and I know you might not believe me, but I’m actually feeling fine, and I’ve got a crew to command.”

            You shake your head in disbelief. What was it with this guy and his apparent death wish? “Well, Poe, I was under the impression that you asked for me specifically.”

            He smirked, frustration building within you – _fuck this guy, no one deserves to be this charming._ “I didn’t ask for you to help me.”

            You shrugged, leaning away from his face, which was now clear of blood, so you could see his scratched, tan skin – and his eyes, which were a cursedly warm shade of brown that drew you right in. “And I didn’t ask if you wanted help.”

            He folded his arms and laughed – the sound warmed you right up. Maybe things weren’t so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, TECHNICALLY, Poe DID 'ask' in this chapter, because he specifically requested the Reader instead of their medical team - I tried to make it clear that he didn't ask to be HELPED, just wanted a familiar face? For flirty purposes, as well ;) Hope nobody minds!


End file.
